by Nikki Sex
“Are you OK?” Concern etches his features. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”
“I turned it off,” I explain, feeling as though my heart is being torn apart. I need to tell him how much his comments hurt.
Grant’s warm palm steers me to the sofa and sits down beside me. It must be obvious I’ve been crying. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I take two slow, deep, sustaining breaths as I regard him. The familiar sharp angles of his face combined with his penetrating gaze is strangely calming. He’s so strong and unyielding, yet fiercely protective. Grant would never hurt me.
But he did.
I inhale another fortifying breath, preparing to broach the subject which cut me so deeply.
“I’ve been in the closet—I was avoiding your sister,” I explain with a shrug. “While I was in there, I heard what you said to Betty Jo. You denied… us.”
Understanding flashes through his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, then he shuts it without uttering a sound. His brows draw down in concentration. I can almost see words churning in his mind as he processes his every thought.
I know he’d rather keep silent than unintentionally say the wrong thing. It sure as hell makes conversation difficult.
Grant says nothing as minutes pass.
“It made me happy when you defended me,” I finally add, my breath hitching with emotion. “It’s just… when you told your sister you weren’t in a relationship with me…” I swallow. “When you did that, you made me feel as though everything you’ve said to me and everything we’ve done together, was a lie. It felt as if I’m not important—as though you don’t need me or want me.”
His immediate response is a complete surprise.
I make a startled little sound in the back of my throat as Grant quickly sweeps me up into his arms and places me on the kitchen counter, stepping between my legs. His warm palms grip my shoulders, while the direct stare he gives me is molten, intent and determined.
Heat radiates from his body like an open furnace. I catch the faint scent of coffee on his breath. The blue-shaded depths of his gray eyes darken.
Stunned and overwhelmed, I place my hands on his chest. I’m not sure if I want to pull him closer or push him away.
He hurt me and denied being with me. That wasn’t right. Not after all I’ve done for him, and all we’ve been through together. I don’t deserve to be treated like that.
My jaw clenches as a glimmer of healthy anger flickers through me. It feels good to be angry and to stick up for myself. My lips part as I prepare to give him a piece of my mind.
Abruptly he steps close, cupping my face between his hands, his fingers firm and warm against my skin. He angles his head and sweet Jesus. His mouth molds to mine.
Grant never kissed anyone before me, and he rarely kisses me. When he does, it’s never like this.
I’ve wanted him to kiss me this way for so long! I adore kissing. It’s the one thing I’ve missed in our otherwise spectacular sex life.
My body heats as his mouth and tongue move over mine. Kissing is so personal, so intimate. Nothing turns me on more. My pulse quickens and then begins to race. This kiss is deep, intense.
Grant is kissing me.
I blink, wondering if I’ve somehow fallen into another universe. Pulling back from him abruptly, my lips curl into a grin of astonished disbelief.
“Now?” I ask in a flash of humor, a burst of laughter bubbling from my chest. “Now you want to kiss me?”
His unwavering gaze is piercing. “Yes.”
His husky voice rolls through me, making my skin tingle and flush with need. The stern look and sexy sound of him makes me giddy with excitement. One hand tangled into my hair, he imperiously presses his mouth against mine once more.
I’m instantly lightheaded.
Yum. This is the Grant I’ve come to know and love. A man that exudes truckloads of delicious, alpha male dominance.
Weak with sharp, edgy arousal, I hear myself moan. The fierce strength of his hunger wipes away every thought I have as he devours me.
I’m overpowered by his heady scent, his strength and his need.
Mindless instinct takes over.
No longer able to hold myself up, I lean into him, my hands gripping his muscular back. My breasts heat and swell, feeling heavy and tender as I melt against his rock-hard chest. I vaguely remember—I’m supposed to be angry.
Just now, I can’t recall why.
Who cares? I’ll deal with it later. I’m vacationing in heaven.
The greedy thrust of his tongue against mine, so hot and demanding it makes my head spin. My nipples harden to stone, my sex throbs. I think I could climax simply from sensing the hunger of his full, sensual lips against mine.
Grant further deepens his kiss. The stubble on his jaw abrades my skin, and his heart pounds against mine.
I’m being consumed. I feel as though he doesn’t simply want to taste me—he wants to eat me alive.
I can't get enough, his kisses set me on fire. They’re so powerful, reaching depths within me, filling my emptiness and replacing my hurt with passion and heat.
I pant with longing. All the desire he has for me, that’s been building up inside of him is right here in his lips, his mouth, teeth and tongue. His need drags a groan from him as we breathe each other in.
He’s putting everything he is and everything he feels into this passionate kiss. Lust yes, oh yes—but also an ocean full of love and need is there too.
Grant may find it difficult to communicate how he feels with words, but I can’t doubt what he’s saying with this one breath-stealing, life-giving kiss.
“Mmm,” I hum as I kiss him back, answering his desperate need with a need of my own. I rise to his level of passion with the fire within me that he feeds and fans. Together, we are molten, white-hot and intimately connected.
“Renata,” Grant breathes my name, a husky sound of intense longing.
“Mmm?” I murmur, loving the taste of him.
The sound of Briley crying through the baby monitor interrupts us both. Damn it.
Chapter 3.
“To the world you may be one person; but to one person you may be the world.”
― Dr. Seuss
~~~
Grant Wilkinson
Renata scoots up the stairs to check on Briley, while I lean weakly against the counter. As I watch her leave the room, I realize I’m trembling. I feel knotted up inside, like ten strands of barbed wire fence, all cut and curling into a tangled ball.
My heart drums in my chest, hard and fast. Instinctively, I attempt to calm down, to find that cool ‘sniper’ objectivity I rely on when stressed. I count each beat, taking slow, measured breaths. Emotional detachment and inner silence is ordinarily effortless.
Why can’t I find it now?
My mouth is dry. I take a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and drink it down. Usually, I can disconnect. Usually, I can cut myself off… but not with her.
For the first time I can remember, level-headed logic escapes me. I can’t be dispassionate.
Renata is far too important to me.
When she first walked into the kitchen, I was so glad to see her. She’d looked so feminine in her blue dress, heels and her long blonde hair. Adorable freckles sprinkled lightly on her cute upturned nose.
Renata only wears dresses during her time off from her position as nanny. With one look I became instantly hard—mainly because every time she’s worn a dress, I’ve managed to get my hand up it.
A mixture of fear and pain stabs me, and thoughts of her dress disappear. The memory of the shattered look on her tear-stained face guts me, not to mention the words she said, “It felt as if I’m not important, as though you don’t need me or want me.”
How could she possibly think that? If I make my overpowering need for her more obvious, I’d probably scare her away. I’d never deliberately hurt her, although I can see why she’d interpret my denial of our relati
onship as a betrayal.
Renata’s too good to be true. I never allow myself to hope she’ll stay with me forever, yet the thought of losing her almost destroys me.
I want and need her with an urgency I’ve never known before. Not just sexually, although my hard and aching cock would fiercely disagree.
Monster! Pervert!
While not as forceful, demons still plague me. I fear I know why they refused to leave—sick fuck that I am. I’m not good enough for her, she deserves so much more. And yet, selfishly, I want her.
I like who I am when I’m with her.
I hear the distinct, soft swinging sound of our newly installed cat door. Not long after, Mitten arrives at my feet, greeting me with a soft meow.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, stroking him and scratching his neck.
He begins to loudly purr. Just like a car, Mitten has his motor running. Standing up on his hind legs, he communicates his desire to sit on my shoulder. I lift him up and place him there, grateful for his company.
Mitten’s very protective of Renata. He’s her companion, confidant, source of comfort and best friend. That gives him 'family' status, in my book.
He’s also the smartest, coolest creature on four legs.
“Us men need to stick together,” I tell him.
I can feel my blood pressure lowering as Mitten’s soothing purr sounds loudly in my ear. As I scratch under his neck, taking slow, deep breaths, I reflect on the conversation I had with my sister, going over it in my mind.
I know why I said what I did to Betty Jo. I purposely chose not to share details of my personal life with my spiteful sister. Anything I tell her will likely be twisted, distorted and used as ammunition against me. I simply need to clarify my reasoning, then she’ll understand.
I begin to set the table, taking the casserole Maria made us for dinner out of the oven and setting it on the table. Mitten easily holds on to me without scratching. He never ceases to impress.
Renata comes down the stairs with Briley in her arms. “Hey.”
I smile. “Hey yourself.”
“Hello, Mitten kitten, my gorgeous little man,” she adds, giving him an ear scratch. He arches his neck and emits a happy purr of approval.
Placing Briley into his baby chair, she straps him in. Without another word, we work together seamlessly, totally in sync. We set the table, bring the salad out from the refrigerator, arrange drinks and warm the baby’s food.
It’s so natural having her around. Pure pleasure on so many levels.
We all sit down together to eat at the table, Mitten included. I dish food out onto everyone’s plates, except of course, for Briley. Renata feeds him baby food with calm efficiency.
I know she’s still upset with me, but she’s dialed it back. She's cheerful and agreeable, without any of the negative vibes that were always present in my home while I was growing up.
For the hundredth time since I’ve met her, it occurs to me that she’s a very restful woman. Even though she’s mad at me, her presence gives me a sense of peace. I look at her in wonder, knowing she’s patiently waiting for me to explain.
“I wasn’t prepared to answer questions about you… or us,” I begin tentatively.
Her gaze lifts to mine. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“What? Never! How could you possibly think that?”
Renata shrugs and takes a bite of salad. “You denied being with me. You lied.”
I’d forgotten that lying is one of her big no-no’s. “Yes, I lied to my sister,” I amend. “I’d never lie to you. And yes, I denied our connection. But you know what Betty Jo is like. She uses knowledge like a soldier uses ammunition—I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, or worse, have her looking down the crosshairs, intentionally targeting you. The woman causes nothing but trouble. I don’t want her focusing trouble your way.”
“I see,” she replies with composure, eating her own dinner while feeding and praising Briley, wiping his hands and mouth intermittently, as needed.
I frown. “Do you think we should tell people about our relationship? Serious consequences go along with that plan, and not only from Betty Jo. My mother will also be a major thorn in our sides. Alex married Sky before mother knew they were dating. If he hadn’t, our mother would’ve tried to bully poor Sky into running away. Plus, the police will want to question you—although maybe not so much now.”
My throat is dry. I stop and take a long drink of ice tea, a Southern drink Renata’s learned to love. I put the glass down, meeting her eyes. “I just don’t want to put you out there as a target for my crazy family members to attack.”
Renata reaches over and takes my hand. “So, you’re telling me the only reason you lied about our relationship was to protect me?”
“Yes.”
Regarding me for a long moment, she waits for me to say more.
My heart full, I clear my throat. “If you’re willing to bear the backlash… I’d be proud to tell the whole world just how much you mean to me.”
She smiles. “I like that idea.”
Chapter 4.
“Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.”
― Brené Brown
~~~
Grant Wilkinson
Mitten gives us his soft meow, giving me a chance to regroup. It’s his way of saying, “Thanks for dinner, do you want to play?” He jumps down from the chair and chases out of the room, madly pouncing and bouncing as though he’s a kitten.
I doubt we’ve seen the last of him.
Studying me, Renata smiles. “And that kiss?” she asks, looking at me meaningfully. “What was that about?”
I shrug, unable to explain how much I want her and need her. It's too intense. I swallow hard and avert my eyes. I stare at the wall, a vase of flowers, anything but her face. Damn these raw, overpowering emotions. I can’t talk about this.
I feel too much for her.
Renata longs for passionate kisses, but the mere thought of kissing disturbs me, filling me with fear and shame. I can’t forget the things my father said, or what I did with him.
Pretend it’s a lollipop, that’s my boy.
How can I kiss her? I know where my mouth has been.
Despite my inner conflict, I’d wanted to overcome my reluctance—for her. When I saw how hurt she was, I couldn’t find the words to explain why I lied. I needed to kiss her, to at least give her that. From that one intimate act, I hoped to show her exactly how I felt.
Kissing turned out to be much easier than I thought, especially as I was focused on pleasing Renata. Sometimes worrying about doing something is much more difficult than actually doing it.
She was pissed off and prepared to fight, but I knew how to stop her. I had to show her how important she was to me.
The moment our lips touched, I thought, felt, smelled and tasted only Renata. Shame and triggers from my past had vanished, while my senses became enveloped by her.
What a wonderful feeling.
“Just so you know,” she says in a teasing voice. “I was very impressed with that incredible kiss. You’ve got skills! Thank you. That was worth waiting for.”
“Well… good,” I manage to say, pleased and surprisingly embarrassed.
Mitten returns, the ball gripped in his teeth. He knows Renata’s busy feeding Briley, so he drops it at my feet. I rub the back of his neck, but he doesn’t want that kind of attention. Right now, he’s ready to play.
“Go get it,” I call, throwing the ball so it bounces off a wall, and rolls near the sofa.
Renata and I both laugh as Mitten jumps high in the air, following the trajectory of the evil spherical monster he must savagely stalk and kill. Seemingly, the fate of the universe hinges on this very chase.
“Can I tell you something I realized today?” she asks. I’m thankful she’s changing the subject.
“Of course.”
“You know how fear kind of rules my life?”
I nod, a slight downward jerk of my chin.
“It’s so embedded. It’s who I’ve been for as long as I can remember. I can be myself with you, probably because when we first met I knew you needed my help. But being around other people, particularly strangers, kind of freaks me out. When I go out anywhere, I honestly feel the weight of people staring at me. I’m usually so tense under what I imagine is the overbearing scrutiny of people I don’t know.”
Mitten retrieves his ball and returns to me. He fetches and plays 'catch' as well as any dog I've ever seen. I pat him effusively and throw the ball again. We both smile when he snatches it mid-air, falls to the floor, and with unrestrained violence, proceeds to bite, scratch and kill the innocent object.
“Today,” Renata continues, “I met everyone’s gaze. People smiled at me, and I smiled back. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a huge improvement for me. I’m proud of myself.”
I take her hand with both of mine and kiss her palm. “That’s wonderful. You should be proud. It is a big deal.”
“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “Naturally, I wondered what changed. Why did I feel so brave? I think I’ve changed and improved because of you.”
“Me?” I ask, genuinely surprised
She squeezes my hand. “Yes.”
“I think the shoe is definitely on the other foot.”
“No, you’re good for me,” Renata says, passionately. “I don’t care about your bitchy sister or whatever problems your mother might cause. It doesn’t even matter you might be tried for a murder you didn’t commit. Whatever the issues are, I’m here. I’ve signed on to be with you.”
“Even if the police come to arrest me again?” I tease, warmed by her determined faithfulness.
Undaunted, she regards me through raised brows. “Hey, desensitization baby—a diminished emotional response to negative stimulus, due to repeated exposure. I’m studying for my psychology degree, remember?”
“I remember,” I say with a smile.
“So, the police turning up at our door again might actually be good for me in the long run,” she says with a wry smirk. “I can’t possibly react as badly as I did the last time. Once they arrest you three or four more times—no joke—it’ll make a serious dent in my fears.”